


The Haze

by love_killed_the_superstar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Existential Crisis, M/M, Making Out, Pre-Earth, and then getting some unexpected lip action, mainly Jasper wondering about the questions of life when extremely high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_killed_the_superstar/pseuds/love_killed_the_superstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Who invented this feeling?” he asks to nobody in particular. “This feeling of like, not being able to go anywhere, even though there's nowhere else left to go? Like I could walk through every corridor in the ARK and still feel like I'm stuck. We're trapped. Forever. For always.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Haze

**Author's Note:**

> Well, in the pilot it did indirectly state that these two had been stealing some 'herbs' through Monty's family's connections and lets face it, if you're cooped up in a space station for your entire life you'd be happy to get away from it in any way possible, right? Basically, I just wanted to write these two getting high, so here we are.  
> Where are all the Jonty shippers at a crucial time like this?? PLease...

The lights are dim in Monty's room, and Jasper has to squint a little to make out what kind of face he's making. Of course, the faint haze in the room from whatever hallucinogenic his best friend lit doesn't exactly help, either.

Monty leans back against the edge of his bed and takes a deep draw while Jasper crouches nervously beside the wardrobe. Jasper knows this isn't the first time his friend has smoked a round, but this is the first time he's been asked to join in, and there's a small part of him wondering if they'll be caught out like everyone else, if they'll be locked up, floated, for wanting to escape the monotonous grey confines of the ARK.

But Monty insists they're fine, and Jasper feels compelled to believe him.

“You just have to relax,” his friend assures him, taking note of Jasper's hunched shoulders and clenching fists. “I've done this a dozen times already, nobody cares if you only take a little of what you dish out.”

If Monty says it's not a big deal Jasper should trust him, shouldn't he? Monty's always been the one with the plan, the one who knows what he's doing, while Jasper tags along for the ride. It's been like this for as long as they've been friends. What's the point in doubting him now?

Taking caution to the wind he's never felt, Jasper shakily reaches for a joint himself and stretches his legs, which are beginning to cramp from squatting for so long. On the first drag the smoke is a foreign invader, and he begins to cough violently. From beside him Monty grins.

“You'll get used to it,” he says carelessly, leaning back on the balls of his hands and staring up at the bleak ceiling. “It's an acquired taste, too.”

Jasper's throat burns a little, but there's a certain zest that comes with the thrill of bending the rules of society, and his body is itching for another draw. His fingers are trembling and ash scatters across the old pair of sneakers Monty has promised to pass on to him once his new pair come in, which he quickly swipes away, but Monty has his head tipped back and he's laughing to himself. Jasper doubts he'd have noticed if he'd held them above his face and set fire to them.

A few drags later, Jasper begins to feel the effects Monty had promised. He feels light, as if the gravity has gone, as if they're plummeting or rising, he doesn't know which. Has the ceiling always been so white? He squints a little, but the colours don't dim any. His senses feel heightened, spiked by the powers of the strange white flowers from Monty's ever replenishing pocket. The dealer in question is laughing a little louder now, but somehow finds the strength to move his hand to his mouth, stifling the sound. After all, they're supposed to be studying. And Jasper knows when Monty's dad slipped him the herbs he wasn't expecting him to share with the likes of Jasper.

“You know what his problem is,” Jasper begins, raising an index finger and jabbing it in the direction of Monty's desk lamp. “His world is like, too small. If I don't French-kiss with computers I might as well not breathe your air and sniff your flowers, right?”

Monty looks at him through glazed eyes.  
“Who?”

“Your old man. He hates me, you know? You can see it in his eyes. Ain't no mechanics smoking _his_ herbs.”

“Well, all but one,” Monty points out, taking off his maroon hoodie. “Hey, can you put your goggles to good use? I can't really see through the fumes.”

Jasper reaches up to find his goggles but his fingertips don't quite reach.

“I think they're gone, Monty.”

“They're on your head you moron,” Monty chides, but makes no effort to aid in his search. “Forget it.”

“Where's all this smoke going to, y'know, go, once we're done with it?” Jasper wonders, staring at his hands. It's hard to tell how many fingers he's holding up. “S'not like we can get rid of it so easily, right? If they found it in the vents they'd haul our asses off to be floated.”

“Well,” Monty begins, stretching out a little like a cat. He falls silent for a while, and Jasper starts to wonder if his friend has actually fallen asleep, but then he picks up from where he left off. “Well, normally, I don't smoke as much as this, but like, we sort of just let it hang around for a few days. If it's only in small amounts people don't really notice, I guess. Normally takes like, a week.”

“How are you going to navigate? I can't see a thing.”

Monty snorts at Jasper's attempt to sound articulate.

“Play it by ear I guess?”

“But you'll break everything!” Jasper whines, oddly concerned about Monty's hardly hazardous bedroom layout, “And then you'll get floated.”

“Why exactly would I get floated?” Monty enquires, mildly interested. Monty's always been more confident when he's off his face but Jasper thinks he's just become more incoherent.

“Well, maybe it wouldn't be you. Maybe you'd get like, banned from this stuff for life and probably have to sit down for like, a talk with your dad, but he'd float me instead. Cause he hates me,” Jasper bleats, nodding along to every other word for added effect. “You know, you'd trip over your crap and sprain your wrist and he'd say 'if not for that Jasper punk', and then _my_ dad would scream at me and somehow they'd come to the conclusion that I should be floated and not you. Even though it's _your_ goddamn fault!”

Jasper's starting to look a little manic. The sight is enough to send Monty into a fit of giggles, and Jasper to follow soon after. That said, Jasper's laughter probably makes it even more infectious; the way he laughs, little wheezing sounds in between loud snorts, is an amusing sound in itself, and somehow the haze around them amplifies its comedic effect.

“You,” Monty announces, then seems to forget what he intended to say. More laughter ensues.

Jasper doesn't think he's ever felt this great in his whole life. For the first time in the sixteen years of his existence there's not a hint of claustrophobia weighing down on his mind. He feels like if he really wanted to he could drift out of Monty's bedroom window and into the vast space beyond without looking back twice, and he feels like he could make it.

“Who invented this feeling?” he asks to nobody in particular. “This feeling of like, not being able to go anywhere, even though there's nowhere else left to go? Like I could walk through every corridor in the ARK and still feel like I'm stuck. We're trapped. Forever. For always.”

“Don't get so hung up on it,” Monty grunts, slumping to the side until he's almost lying on the floor. “Not like there's anything we can do about it. I don't get high just to dwell on the same crap I always do. If you wanna have an existential crisis by all means, just don't do it out loud.”

Jasper shuts his mouth and dwells on it some more. He can see some corner of the Earth peeking through the skylight - the Earth does have corners, Jasper is pretty sure, although how a sphere can have corners is beyond his comprehension. Geomentry (it is geomentry, right?) has never been his strong point. He wants to ask for Monty's clarification but he's pretty sure he'll just tell him to fuck off.

“Do you ever wonder who you're going to end up with?” Monty asks into the fog.

“Nah man,” Jasper responds, eyes still glued on the polar ice caps, “but like, there isn't even that many people anyway. Like, what if they run out of girls? We'll be alone. Forever. For always.”

“Hm,” Monty hums in agreement. “Well, my dad says they're always looking for ways to keep the population down. If the girls die out we can just be fags, no big deal.”

Jasper snorts loudly.

“Yeah okay, good luck with that. You haven't even kissed a girl, let alone a dude. And you might want to brush up on your people skills. Most people don't react kindly to being offered 'medicinal herbs' as an ice breaker.”

“It worked on you, didn't it?” Monty retorts with a lopsided grin. It's then that Jasper realises he's somehow ended up leaning with his face on the bed over the other side of the room. He doesn't remember moving. Maybe he floated.

“Are we dead?” he asks seriously, but he decides he doesn't really mind what answer he receives – he feels really fucking good right now.

Monty sighs and sits upright, turning to squint at Jasper through the haze.

“Jasper we're not fucking dead. If we were dead would we really be crammed into my tiny room on this shitty ARK? I really highly doubt it.”

Jasper makes note that Monty becomes obnoxious and sarcastic when he's high. It doesn't bother him as much as he thought it would. In fact, it's rather endearing.

“You could learn a thing or two from me. I've kissed _loads_ of girls. Like at least two. Maybe three. Maybe. Which is a lot more than you. Like three times as much.”

“Three times nought is still-” Monty begins, but loses the will to continue the sentence, “And how do you know how many people I've kissed? You ever think I might not share everything with you?”

“But you do,” Jasper says pointedly, as if it were some unchallenged law, “If you'd kissed someone I'd know. I know everything about you.”

“Not everything, you pretentious ass.”

As Jasper turns his head to demand what exactly Monty means by that, he's met by dark, unwavering eyes he was sure hadn't been there a second ago. The two falter for a moment, mouths flapping uselessly, before Monty shakes his head a little and presses his dry lips to Jasper's. It's an awkward bumping of mouths and fumbling of hands and Jasper doesn't think this is the time to mention he hasn't kissed anyone since he was five, but everything feels so surreal. He's pretty sure Monty was lying, they are actually dead, because everything is like opposite day; his best friend (who has never, ever kissed another human being before, he's certain) is surprisingly good at taking the initiative with their kiss, and Jasper has to once again question if this is all real. Because he can say with confidence that Monty is definitely, absolutely one thousand percent, not gay.

And neither is he, come to think of it. So why are they kissing again?

He pulls away just long enough to breathe, taking in a sharp breath of more of the wonderful smoke, before he is back in Monty's mouth again, once again reminding himself that neither of them are gay, and that guys who liked girls generally didn't kiss other guys. Whatever. Maybe Monty just wants some practise. Maybe smoking too many flowers makes you want to kiss other boys. Jasper is cool. He'll roll with it.

This goes on for quite some time, and somewhere along the way tongues are added to the equation, a notion that would normally alarm Jasper but now feels impossibly good. Monty's started to make little groaning noises and part of Jasper knows they should keep it down or they'll get caught, but another part of him wants to urge him on. He doesn't ever remember hearing these kind of sounds emitting from his friend's throat, and that thought is what spurs him on.

Monty is gripping the folds of his jacket, he can feel a heartbeat that seems louder and more demanding than usual – is it his or Monty's? He can't tell – and there's a longing in the way that they groan as they pause for breath. For once Monty is allowing Jasper to purposely mess up his hair as he runs his long fingers through from the crown to the nape (though no doubt Monty will comb it back into place later, as he so often does), and in their fervent kisses there are rare moments of tenderness, where they linger without lust for just a second, purely to remember why they're here.

There's a nagging thought in the back of Monty's mind telling him to kiss the creamy skin of Jasper's neck, exposed and illuminated by the effects of the fog, to suckle and bite carefully in order to raise the moans out of his best friend's mouth like a coiling spring. Instead he presses his lips to Jasper's jaw a little forcefully, earning a sharp intake of breath that's almost as satisfying. He would really do more if he could, but he's just so jubilant already, his newly found hope a warmth that blooms in his chest. He collapses into Jasper's arms, resting his head on his shoulder, and begins to laugh, fatigue taking over.

“I reckon my people skills are refined enough now?”

Jasper snorts and the sound sets him off again. The two collapse into a fit of laughter, a shuddering mass of limbs on the floor.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine whatever they're smoking is some sort of hybrid medicinal herb with the same sort of effects as marijuana... I get the feeling Monty smokes it for a sense of getting away from his reality for a little while.  
> This was co-written with my sister, since we figured we'd start off the Jonty revolution with a bang. (This is also my first fic uploaded to AO3, so that's pretty rad I guess.)


End file.
